


funfetti, i’m ready

by pixiepower



Series: you're in a car with a beautiful boy [2]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Car Sex, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Marriage, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Tender Horny Bullshit, Wedding Fluff, also a little bit kidfic, i cannot be held responsible for weverse preorder benefit card minghao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25039501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiepower/pseuds/pixiepower
Summary: Some people say things like this make them feel young again. Minghao has no hangups about his age, about the ways in which time passes. It’s worth no effort trying to stay youthful, not when growing older means seeing his friends lift children into their arms, when it means marrying the love of his life, when it means watching the first press of crows’ feet imprint themselves in the corners of Joshua’s eyes and imagining the life they have ahead of them. Not when these moments make him feel like they can keep doing this forever.•Minghao and Joshua steal away into the rental Jeep on the eve of their second wedding.
Relationships: Hong Jisoo | Joshua/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Series: you're in a car with a beautiful boy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813789
Comments: 9
Kudos: 114





	funfetti, i’m ready

**Author's Note:**

> title from “cake by the ocean,” by dnce.
> 
> this piece is a partner to my dear skateboardachoo’s gorgeous [i have my beauty—you your art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25043275). thank you for caring for worms with me.
> 
> hats off to all of us thinking about joshua hong. have some jeep sex.

Everything is warm, flickering and hazy. There’s a thin layer of fog coating everything, swirling into Minghao’s lungs and swimming between him and the ocean. Four years glitter on the horizon where it meets the pier, and Minghao has to look back toward the fire to look at his future. 

The air blowing from the south of the beach toward the hotel on the other side of the pier is cloying and sweet, the memory of chocolate bars and marshmallows melting all over messy hands, and it would be disgusting if not for the blanket draped over his shoulders and the sand-soft fingertips absentmindedly doodling over his left hip, protections and distractions from the world spinning on. They wander up his side and card through his hair where the breeze ruffles it, turning cold and coral-pink just this side of sundown. The nape of his neck tingles at the touch, and he leans into it, feeling the red-heat of the bonfire wane on his cheeks, replaced with something else more permanent.

Minghao digs his toes into the sand, warm ash settling over the cooling beige. He presses a kiss into the citrus-seawater smell underneath where silver chain dangles, smiling into skin where goosebumps rise.

“Hey,” Minghao murmurs.

The hand on his side squeezes tighter. “Hi,” Joshua says, laughing a little. 

Minghao buries another kiss into Joshua’s hair, where he smells like sea salt and smoke. His hands are sandsoft when Minghao toys with his fingers, exfoliated from scooping sand onto Minghao’s feet when they sat down, from dragging store-bought firewood across the beach, arms flexing and forearms straining.

There is no real tension, no nervousness. It’s all celebration. 

They’re the last ones on the beach from their informal rehearsal dinner, bonfire blowing lower with the breeze, and there’s a comfortable sentimentality that curls into Minghao’s chest, keeps him warm while the fire burns out. 

Family, here, means cousins you don’t know the names of asking the same questions over and over, a well-meaning uncle’s awkward assertion that he’s  _ never been to a gay wedding before,  _ Joshua’s friends from school asking if he still sings Sunday Morning every chance he can get. It means Joshua’s mother piling more food onto his paper plate and running her hand through Joshua’s hair. It means getting a longer, prouder, more tearful hug from Kyla, pretty and strong and resilient, than Minghao ever expected he’d get, and feeling grateful for the way life moves sometimes.

It means,  _ “You’re already married. Why are you still saying fiancé?” _

_ “We’re not done yet,”  _ Minghao had laughed, wondering if he should feel embarrassed at the way Joshua’s family looks at him, like they see right through him. Spent weeks staring at the dress pants hanging in a bag in the closet thinking about what it would be like. Had to swipe at his eyes when Joshua’s mother wrapped her arms around him first the moment they stepped off the plane.

But it was easy. That part, the hard part, was easy, because every time Minghao laughed at an aunt’s joke or made college friends laugh, Joshua was looking at him. 

And eventually all of them wandered back to their cars in anticipation of tomorrow afternoon’s ceremony, and now it’s just them. Joshua’s thick knitted cardigan is pulled over Minghao’s shoulders, and he pushes his arms into it fully, accidentally nudging Joshua’s shoulder with a bony wrist.

“Dangerous,” he laughs, fixing Minghao with a soft look. “Watch where you flail those things.”

Wriggling and wild, Minghao knocks his hands against Joshua’s arm, his waist, his back, and it all feels so familiar he could float away with it, a puff of smoke and sea spray. They’re laughing. He’s surprised by the plush press of Joshua’s lips against his, and wills the part of his mind that says  _ in public?  _ to quieten. Yes, in public. They can have each other in public here. 

A kiss, an exchanging of vows. For the world to see.

As their mouths move, chaste and slow, Joshua’s hand lands on his thigh, and it would seem absentminded, were it not for the way his strong fingers knead at the lean circumference of it, his broad hand dipping deep without meaning to, brushing against the inseam of Minghao’s pants.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Minghao accuses into Joshua’s mouth. Barbless, on the way to affected. Teasing.

Joshua grins, eyes low. Firelight dances on his eyelashes. He is so beautiful. “What, can’t a man kiss his fiancé on the beach?”

“Mm. Your  _ husband,”  _ Minghao murmurs, low, just to watch Joshua’s face change.

It feels like opulence, pearl and gold and silk and velvet and soft chiffon over the length of him when Joshua’s throat bobs and his eyes rake over Minghao from head to toe, sand and sand and sand. The next breath Minghao takes wracks his body. He wants to luxuriate in it.

Joshua sees it. And Joshua is increasingly in the habit of indulging Minghao his desires. Maybe their nuptials are softening his resolve. Or maybe—

“I have an idea.” 

The smile on Joshua’s face is mischievous, his demure, slow voice crowding one corner of his mouth into something almost like a smirk. Minghao could swear his eyelashes bat. 

“I think I left something in the car. Will you come with me to get it?”

The excuse is so thinly veiled Minghao thinks the ocean spray could disintegrate it. But still, Minghao has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop the flames of desire from licking out, bonfire blown bright. He yanks himself up by Joshua’s outstretched hand and barely remembers to close his fingers around the blanket.

They may well need it.

Joshua leaves no room for argument when he squeezes Minghao’s hand and lets go. “Hold on, hold on, we have to smother the fire first.”

_ Impossible,  _ Minghao thinks. Something low in his belly feels like fire at the responsible way Joshua shovels sand over the embers until all that is left is an ashy dune. “Good?”

A nod, and Minghao takes his hand again. “If I knew it would only take this much to get you going…” Joshua laughs breathlessly as Minghao’s long legs haul them toward the house, stopping short as they get partway down the sandy driveway.

Minghao laughs too, his giggle mingling with the semi-distant crash of waves. “It doesn’t. I’ve been horny since you stepped foot on this continent.”

It’s true, too. Joshua is  _ different  _ in the States. Something in the air, or the water — he settles into himself, playful, like the gravity changes and he can move like a big cat, muscles shifting gentle and powerful at the same time. He glows under the sun. Minghao is helpless.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Joshua grabs for Minghao’s waist, just to do it, and Minghao fumbles for the keys.

The rental Jeep is parked in the sand in the gated part of their villa suite, far enough away that there’s no fear of Joshua’s mother or visiting family wandering out, but adjacent to another carpark at the sprawling beachfront house they’ve taken over for the weekend. Joshua’s suit flutters in the window upstairs, the plastic catching the glitter of sundown the same as the glint of the shells in the sand down by the water.

Joshua takes the keys out of Minghao’s hand, fingers spending more time than necessary threading through his and coaxing the metal out from between them, before leaning over the passenger seat to push the keys into the ignition and turn the radio on.

Much as Minghao wants to ogle the dip of Joshua’s back while his fingers look for the keyhole in the dimming light, he situates himself in the backseat, spreading out the blanket and laying himself out. He pushes up a little with his arms so his feet don’t stick out so much, and by the time the radio is humming some pop song, Joshua is climbing into the back, eyes roving as he settles over Minghao’s legs. Giving him away. Telling Minghao everything he needs to know about how much he wants him, how he’s tamed his apex predator. Domesticated.

“Jesus.” Joshua’s finger traces down his face and even further, his eyes following its path. “I think this is the best idea I’ve ever had.”

“No,” Minghao says, a sly smile spreading slow across his face like the sunset melting over the ocean. “Marrying me was.”

The kiss Joshua gives Minghao is confirmation enough, something deep and true. There’s a smile in it, a  _ yes  _ unspoken over and over, an  _ of course,  _ a fairytale  _ we’ll find each other,  _ a flare of belonging and want. There is no doubt when Joshua’s lips find his, the press of it, the way that as they keep kissing their breathing syncs up, each minute that passes somehow both careful and dirty at once, each new inhale a gasp like they can’t help but want to breathe each other in, like they don’t occupy each other’s lungs and bodies anyway. In the middle of it Minghao’s hands settle somewhere familiar, seeking Joshua’s waistband. His fingertips dip and tease at Joshua’s zipper, and Joshua breaks away with a half-laugh buried in a huff.

“And people say when you get married the fire dies.”

“Fools, the lot of them.” 

Shaking his head, incredulous, Joshua says, “And we get to do it two more times,” like it’s a gift.

“Hopefully more than just twice,” Minghao jokes with insinuation, foot nudging Joshua’s.

It coaxes a warm laugh out of him, and his hand rakes through Minghao’s hair. “Well, that goes without saying.”

Minghao leans back on his elbows a little further, mouth just out of reach of Joshua’s searching, eager one. Joshua looks handsome in the low light, and is looking at him with so much love that Minghao aches with it. “Say it.” Minghao leans his head against the window. “I want you to say it.”

Joshua exhales, tilts his face back, too, and all Minghao can see is the angle of his jaw and the flutter of his eyelashes and the shape of his lips, and Minghao  _ wants.  _ Wants to be taken apart, give himself over, say his vows over and over and over, in front of his friends and family and in the back of this Jeep, whispered and murmured and moaned against Joshua’s skin.

“My  _ husband,” _ Joshua says, low and desperate and blissfully unfamiliar. Minghao hopes he never gets used to the sound of it. “I’m going to fuck you the way you deserve.” 

He says it like a secret, like they didn’t promise in front of Minghao’s parents to weather all storms, like Joshua didn’t steady his beautiful hands and pour black tea for his mother, like he didn’t kneel when Minghao’s cousins had bowed at their own ceremony, like he doesn’t have the gold earring through his helix even today.

And much like all the things Joshua has promised for the last few years, he follows through. He and Minghao know how to make commitments. 

So Minghao arches his back and smiles, reaching for Joshua’s neck and tugging his shirt off by the back of the collar. His hair is mussed when the shirt is removed from him and gets tossed into the front seat, grown long in the last few weeks of wedding preparations, and it looks so good, loose and handsome.

Minghao is overcome with need, molten at the sight of Joshua’s bare chest shining in the moonlight, pulling him close, finally kissing him again as his hands run over his pectorals, gold muscle swelling under his cool fingers. He used to be so lithe. Not anymore.

His mouth fits memory against Joshua’s, whose hands are posed at his waist and his cheek, steady and sure. _We fit here and here and here,_ hand in hand, thumb on cheekbone, instep and knee, nose in neck, lips on lips. Likes the way he feels blanketed under him, his wide shoulders spanning past Minghao’s own, his strong thighs bracketing Minghao’s narrow hips, how he sees his fiancé — here, his _husband_ — and likes the way he uses his weight against him, strong like the mountains that wait for them just a short drive up the hills.

Joshua kisses Minghao with familiarity, the love-laden press of his pretty mouth, and Minghao can feel the corners of his mouth tug up with a smile until he’s licking at Joshua’s teeth instead of the shape of his lips because Joshua is laughing, low and gorgeous and lucky. 

“What?” Minghao asks, smile catching on his own mouth like it’s contagious.

“Just love you.”

Minghao feels like the engine is still on for all the vibration, heady buzz thrumming under his skin. “Then love me.”

The way Joshua’s nose scrunches up and his smile cracks his face open is all flickering firewood, the way his tongue darts out and runs over his lower lip smoke in Minghao’s lungs. It looks like he’s still laughing when his arms move to push up Minghao’s shirt, running the flat of his hands up his abs and suddenly he’s not laughing anymore.

“Fuck,” Joshua sighs in English, and Minghao’s hips kick up at the tone of his voice.

“Oh, please,” Minghao manages with a shaky laugh. He bites his lip and brings his hands to Joshua’s biceps, the deep breath he takes as he rakes his eyes over Joshua’s body shuddering and wanting. “Look at you. I’m shrinking all your sweaters when we get home.”

“Everyone in the office—”

“I don’t care about everyone in the office, I care about  _ me.”  _ It’s selfish, and Minghao almost feels guilty but for the way Joshua grinds down against him when he hisses it, pulling a gasp from his throat like it’s his only source of air. Minghao’s hands curl, blunt nails digging possession into Joshua’s skin, sunkissed, sunblessed.

Desire comes easy, always has. Came easy when he and Joshua kept it all for themselves. Came easy when Joshua used to be ‘last to leave the party,’ watched the door close on Jeonghan and Seungcheol and let Minghao fuck him stupid on the couch, plates still stacked in the sink and the click of the lock still echoing in the apartment. Came easy the night Minghao realized he wanted to be Joshua’s husband and kissed him like the world was ending, inevitable and unafraid.

It’s a dance, Joshua’s hands on Minghao’s waist and their hips meeting in the middle, rocking together, kisses like panting, singing, music. The only partner he ever wants to choose.

The zipper of Minghao’s jeans catches on Joshua’s and they both make a punched-out noise from too much pressure and a little sharpness. Joshua’s grip leaves Minghao’s skin to slip his thumb through the buckle and undo Minghao’s belt like it offends him, yanking at the zipper of his pants and running soft knuckles over his dick in his underwear.

Minghao curses, fingers digging into Joshua’s shoulders and swearing again when Joshua has to roll off him to get his pants all the way off.

“Hang on, baby,” Joshua mutters, tugging haphazardly at the denim. His usually sure hands are fumbling. Minghao is incandescent with pride.

“Again,” Minghao demands. It sounds breathless. Feels it too.

Joshua drags his lips against the inside of Minghao’s knee, the perfect petal-pink of them pressing hot and soft up the skin on the inside of his thigh. Minghao’s obsessed with the way Joshua looks like this, figures he’s allowed to be in love with the sculpt of his face, glittering crescent-moon of his eyes sloping into smooth cheekbones and the plush of his mouth that feels just like it looks. “Baby,” Joshua’s breath ghosts over the crease where Minghao’s underwear digs into his thigh. “Baby.”

Minghao doesn’t need to put on affect. “Joshua, come on.”

A low chuckle. “Didn’t I promise? Be patient, tiánxīn.”

Rolling his eyes, Minghao huffs to distract from the wiggle of his hips and the flutter that goes up his chest at Joshua’s voice wrapping around the Mandarin. It’s still a little clumsy, syrupy and careful no matter what language he’s speaking, but he’s been practicing. Out of everything, the terms of endearment roll out like Joshua was born with them on his tongue, and they catch Minghao on the Achilles tendon every time, sprawling him out on the pavement.

But now Joshua laughs, catching his reaction, observant as ever, and his hands run up the outside of Minghao’s thighs, fingers hooking into the waistband to tug his underwear down and off. His warm hands slide back up the inside of Minghao’s thighs and spread them apart, their broad span pressing into his sensitive skin.

“Oh,” Minghao gasps at the look in Joshua’s eyes when he leans forward and takes the head of his cock into his mouth, his lips closing around it. 

He’s already hard, doesn’t need help getting there after fooling around for so long, but it’s sinful watching Joshua’s lips drag up and down his length, wet and getting wetter. Minghao could watch Joshua suck him off all day, probably would if he weren’t concerned with Joshua’s jaw health and hearing his beautiful voice again.

Something dips in his stomach when Joshua presses kisses from the tip down his length, one hand on his lower belly above the base, holding him down and rolling his hips back. In an instant Joshua is licking over his hole and Minghao’s arm jerks, clapping a hand over his mouth, the high-pitched moan that spills from between his fingers drawing a wet laugh from Joshua where his face has disappeared between his legs.

“If you don’t keep going I’ll only be your husband once over instead of all  _ three, oh-hh, ah, xīngān!”  _ Each trace of Joshua’s tongue over him makes Minghao feel out of his mind, each gasping breath he takes tasting like ocean air and endless love.

There’s both benefit and detriment to Joshua knowing it’s his favorite, too, always purring,  _ if you want I can eat you out, _ when all Minghao can muster is  _ your mouth, God, how can you  _ say _ that so easily. _ The sound of the offer in his coy voice, soft and flirty, had Minghao almost coming the first time he said it. But Minghao never thought there was a dissonance; that kind demeanor and soft eyes are not at odds with the flex of his arms or the sure way Joshua speaks. His confidence is earned, his conviction a jacket he grew into.

But to know that he knows he has such power wielded over you, the knowledge that you will go pliant and desperate for him, open up whining and wet with the press of tongue and thumb brushing gently, softer than the occasion calls for, always delicate in its firmness— 

Minghao grits his teeth and takes a gulping breath of air, tries to stop himself from rocking down onto Joshua’s tongue. “You can’t make me come like this.”

The high flush on Joshua’s face when he pulls back, wraps a loose hand around Minghao’s dick, is ridiculous. Confidently, almost cocky: “Sure I can.”

A sharp knee nudges Joshua’s shoulder. “Okay, but I mean  _ don’t,” _ Minghao laughs through his heaving breaths. His blood is roaring in his ears, the sea trapped in a shell, and Joshua’s hands are holding up the conch.

One more long swipe over his hole, and Joshua is coming up his body again, pressing his cheek against Minghao’s, apple and bone. “What do you want, my Myungho?”

Joshua never has trouble letting silences linger, and Minghao’s answer follows in the form of deft hands on his fly, of hands palming at Joshua’s ass just to push down his jeans, to nip at the packaging, tear at it with his teeth and reveal the shining contents, let them pour out and lick the salt from his fingers.

Things always felt vacuum-sealed, like the air was pressed so thin Minghao could only breathe what was already in his lungs. Knew early. Laid himself flat. Pressed palms to Joshua’s back at the bar, listened to him laugh, felt him lean back into the touch, embraced everything he would give him. Fell in love quietly and completely. And when Joshua listened to him in return, when the world was shouting over Minghao’s murmurs, he was ready. Was ready when Joshua gripped him in two hands and opened him up with a crease and a firm tug, letting oxygen rush in and said  _ I think we—  _ and Minghao completed the sentence with a smile.  _ Yeah. Was hoping. _

Joshua seems regretful to remove his hands from Minghao, but makes quick work of his pants, shoving them down to his knees but not kicking them off completely. 

The breeze is sea-chilled, but the breaths between them are humid and longing. 

There’s something so familiar in the way Joshua reaches under the passenger seat for his toiletries bag, hand pushing past travel-size toothpaste and cologne samples for lube.

“Did you anticipate this?” Minghao teases.

“I did say I left something in the car. Do you take me for a liar?” Joshua’s grin is painted with tender strokes, honest oil and playful acrylic. “Now, tell me what you want.”

Some people say things like this make them feel young again. Minghao has no hangups about his age, about the ways in which time passes. It’s worth no effort trying to stay youthful, not when growing older means seeing his friends lift children into their arms, when it means marrying the love of his life, when it means watching the first press of crows’ feet imprint themselves in the corners of Joshua’s eyes and imagining the life they have ahead of them. Not when these moments make him feel like they can keep doing this forever.

For all the ways they are able to be with everyone else, as public as three international weddings can possibly be, they are still stealing away. Finding something just for them is a wedding gift. Better than pressure cookers or red envelopes.

“Want you,” Minghao says, honest, and sighs, quiet, when Joshua works slick fingers into him. Sometimes they drag prep out, but Minghao is feeling eager. Sentimental, but eager.

“Have me. I love you. You have me.”

Hunger crashes through Minghao like waves on the rocks when Joshua’s fingers brush past his prostate, yanking a mewl out of Minghao that would be embarrassing were he not hearing equally devastating noises pouring from Joshua. 

Joshua has always been good at devotion, at prayer. Minghao thinks he can learn.

“Okay, okay, okay okay okay.” Minghao tugs at Joshua, pulling him up and rocking against where they’re both desperately hard, smearing wet and sighing from the feeling. “I want—”

“You want my cock?”

_ Holy shit. _ And the angels wept, trumpeting the end of times. “Shua, Shua,” Minghao whines, hands flying up to grip like a vice the frame of the window. If the door were to swing open he would be dragged along with it but for the press of Joshua’s hands into his waist, the broad cradle of his paperbark palms against the bare skin sloping into Minghao’s back. 

Fingers ruck up the sides of his shirt to get better access to his chest, wrinkles by the bottom hem where his belt imprinted all day.

Everything smells like bonfire smoke and sea salt and sex, and Minghao feels drunk on it, vignette filter hazing the edges of everything outside the points of hyperfocus: Joshua’s mouth pressing vows and hymns into Minghao’s mouth; his hair, curtaining his eyes and curly at the edges from sweat and ocean spray; his hands, thumbs soothing absently along the lines of his iliac furrow; his hips, sliding against Minghao where he’s desperate for it.

The wind is cool when it blusters through the open window, and Minghao’s hands feel frozen to the frame, pinned by desire and Joshua’s body. Minghao’s mind flips through languages like it’s glitching through television channels, a comfortable oceanic static crackling in his ears. His signal tunnels, remote stuck to one program. “Jagiya, bǎobèi, Shua, I love you, you have to fuck me. Please.”

“You want—?”

_ “No. Now,”  _ Minghao moans, burying his face in Joshua’s neck at the way his desperation blows into the evening air. “Joshua!”  _ If someone hears me, they’ll know whose I am. There will be no question.  _

One of Joshua’s hands cradles the side of Minghao’s face, brushing his hair out of his eyes, slipping down to tug the cardigan back over his shoulder, keeping him warm. The other—

The only noise is a sharp intake of air hissing past Joshua’s teeth, Minghao’s lungs punched flat by the feeling of him pressing inside. The blanket is bunched up under the small of his back now, itchy with all that sand caught between the fibers and lumpy from movement, but Joshua’s cock is filling him up second by second, and Minghao thinks as his eyes roll back that this sensation supersedes all others.

He sets a pace like waves. Ebb and flow, the press of a hand pushing up and raking nails over Minghao’s chest under his shirt, and all Minghao can do is brace himself, push back, equal and opposite reaction. 

It feels so  _ good. _ Joshua is fucking him like they have all the time in the world, like their first wedding night, and Minghao moans half at the drag of Joshua’s cock inside him and half at the idea of the sex they’ll have after their final wedding, back in their apartment in Korea. A rechristening of the home they’ve made together. Husbands, husbands, husbands.

“You feel so good, tiánxīn,” Joshua pants against Minghao’s temple, his breath on the sweat-stuck hair plastered to the skin there warm and his voice heavy with pleasure. Minghao responds with the hungry press of his mouth against Joshua’s jaw.

The sound of tires on gravel crackles over the tides and Minghao’s eyes snap open. He pulls his head back and finds Joshua’s face where he is suddenly illuminated, light flooding over the stone-stack fence dividing the properties. A car pulling into the driveway of the house next door. Neither of them can fully steady their breathing, chests heaving, and Minghao drops his grip from the stripped frame of the Jeep to get his hands on Joshua’s arms.

In the half-blocked, thrown blue-white LED of the diffused headlights bouncing into the sky, Joshua is gold and tan and built like an altar, unswayable and glistening with sweat. Minghao was never all that religious but he thinks he can worship here. 

Joshua’s lips are pressed together tightly, as though beating back his urge to make any sound, and his arms are caging Minghao in, and Minghao has to fight his own urge to laugh. His hand finds Joshua’s face, fingers trailing over his cheekbone, thumb teasing his lips apart. They’re pink-bitten-swollen, his fault, something igniting in his chest about it, and Minghao just traces the shape of them, plush and soft, strawberry-pomegranate-peach.

The look on Joshua’s face can’t decide what it wants to say. His mouth decides to breathe, “You want me to keep going?” It’s not goading, just… asking. The light catches the planes of his face and Minghao loves him.

“Yeah. Slow, until the lights turn off,” Minghao responds quietly, sealing it with a kiss against Joshua’s lips. 

This kiss is languid, sweet, the way Minghao kisses his fiancé.

Joshua’s hips roll into Minghao deep, could pass for lazy if he didn’t know better, if he didn’t feel how every muscle in his body engages, if the way he rocks against Minghao and grinds against him just the way he likes wasn’t indicative otherwise. 

Hard where he rubs up against Joshua’s stomach, Minghao keeps his mouth occupied with Joshua’s to stifle anything louder than a sharp exhale as he feels the tingling approach of his orgasm at the bottom of his feet and the base of his spine.

Before long the lights flicker off again, plunging them into darkness again, the last vestiges of the sun melting hazy over the horizon. Footsteps on sand crunch into the distance, a door closes, and it’s quiet, heartbeats and ocean waves. Joshua tilts a little, licks at the skin under Minghao’s ear. “Now?”

Minghao’s hands tighten in anticipation and he nods, and Joshua gives him a smile, too soft, before bracing one arm on the window frame and leaning into another kiss.

This kiss is all messy teeth and tongue, lion and heart, the way Minghao kisses his husband.

Joshua fucks into Minghao with singleminded determination, snapping his hips with whatever leverage he can manage, one foot caught behind the passenger seat and the other on the doorframe. Part of Minghao’s mind urges him to stay quiet, but with each desperate thrust of Joshua’s hips into him he thinks he can be forgiven for sending into the sky a hungry chorale of  _ aah-aah-Joshua-love,  _ for the way he drinks up like wine Joshua’s low  _ fuck, shit, Jesus, God,  _ dirty and sacrilegious and dripping with honey.

“Close,” Joshua whimpers.

The ragged sound of it pulls Minghao over the edge first with no preamble, cliff-diving and coming with a surprised moan, intense and full-body, smearing pearl against the muscle of Joshua’s stomach. 

_ “Oh, Minghao,”  _ Joshua breathes in response, groans when Minghao’s body clenches around him, and two pumps later he’s fucking in deep and coming inside Minghao, lips parted in a silent shout, his forehead pressed against Minghao’s.

The comedown is quiet, and as Minghao breathes in, licks sweat off Joshua’s neck, he thinks of vows and sacrament. He giggles into Joshua’s collarbone, sighs when he pulls out, swallowing at how much he likes the feeling of Joshua’s come sliding slow out of him.

“Probably not a beach-shower occasion, right?” Joshua murmurs against the top of Minghao’s head. Minghao pulls a face, maintaining it until Joshua notices and pulls back. He laughs, his gentle fond thing, and says, “I’ll do a load of laundry before bed.”

“I love you,” Minghao breathes, and lets Joshua kiss him. He even lets him pull up his t-shirt to wipe at the mess on his stomach. Small concessions he let himself make long ago in the interest of love.

He’s getting married tomorrow. Again. And when Joshua says, “I love you. Let’s go inside,” Minghao smiles.

•

There is a certain kind of pressure that’s lifted that comes with a second wedding, even more so when it’s your second exchanging of vows with the same man.

Well, there is still some pressure.

_ “Aish,”  _ Joshua’s mother fusses, tugging up Minghao’s collar, motherly in that knowing kind of way, and there’s something clever tucked into the corner of her mouth that reminds Minghao of her son when she smooths the fabric over his chest. He reaches down to adjust his necklaces where they dip down past his collarbones and sees, then, the blush-red lines Joshua’s nails scraped into his skin last night, tucked into his lapel by sheer luck alone.

The mortification is all-encompassing, worsened still by the soft, kind laugh his mother-in-law lets out at the red heat radiating from his cheeks and ears.

Her hands find Minghao’s, holding them between them like a bridge. “You take care of each other. And anyone can see you make him happy.” She doesn’t mean it pointedly, but her wry smile and the way her eyes crinkle embarrass Minghao nonetheless.

“Thank you,” Minghao says. He squeezes her hands, soft and sure, doctor’s hands. “Thank you.”

When she heads off with a kiss to his cheek, Mingyu sighs loudly, pressing his camera to his chest. “Not for nothing, but when you see those pictures, you’re going to cry.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Minghao says, voice tight with emotion.

The smile Mingyu gives him is earnest and proud, and Minghao lets Mingyu tug him bodily into his chest, a hug all warm like lifelong friendship. “Go on, then. Your husband is waiting.”

Muffled into Mingyu’s chest: “You just want to flirt with Jihoon some more.”

Mingyu laughs and spins Minghao out of his grasp, lifting the garland of leaves onto his shoulders. “Yeah, and I can’t do that if there’s no wedding for him to write about.”

Fair enough.

When Minghao makes it out to the beach, his feet sink into morning-fresh sand, still cool from sunrise. A cacophony of shouts greet him, roaring over the sound of wedding setup some meters away on the beach.

“Myungho-yaaah!”

Most everyone else is taking their seats, but Jeonghan never could resist taking his opportunities where he can.

Careful not to squish the garland, Jeonghan hugs Minghao with one arm, Seungcheol’s hand on his back. “It’s a shame Hwan is still too young to fly. I know how much Channie loves the beach.”

“We knew not everyone would be able to make it. Means a lot that you’re here, though,” Joshua says, and Minghao’s heart stops.

Joshua is radiant as the sun, his hair combed and soft, all the waves and curls framing his brow absolutely luminous. A vee of golden skin dips into his jacket, and the green of his garland throws every color of him into beauty. Minghao is torn between the ache in his chest and an ache even lower, both somehow insatiable even after all these years. He could gaze at Joshua forever. 

Maybe Minghao will cry at this wedding, too. Maintaining a track record is very important.

“We know what you did,” Jeonghan smirks, his wide Cheshire grin blinding like headlights on an abandoned highway. He looks  _ this  _ close to tossing his head back in laughter. “You’ve got that Jeep sex glow.”

Not bothering to deny it, Joshua says with a quirked eyebrow, “So do you just not even bother covering his ears anymore, or…?” He gestures with a hand to Yoojoon, who gurgles happily on Jeonghan’s hip.

Yoojoon reaches out his little fist and grips Joshua’s fingers before he can pull away, and the coo Joshua lets out, coupled with the fond scrunch of his nose, makes Minghao swallow thickly. Seungcheol catches it, too; he claps a gentle hand onto Minghao’s shoulder and smiles pityingly. Minghao lets out a half-laugh, an exhale through his nose, and toys with Joshua’s ring, tucked for safekeeping in his pocket.

“We feel that honesty is an important trait to teach our son early,” Jeonghan says, hoisting Yoojoon up a little higher so Joshua doesn’t have to bend so low to touch his forehead to Yoojoon’s tiny one, fair little tufts of hair messy in the breeze.

“And it’s not like you can say anything to  _ us  _ about semi-public sex, Jeonghannie,” Joshua says sweetly, as though to Yoojoon, but his eyes are rolling.

Seungcheol laughs. “As far as Jeonghan is concerned, our house is made of shatterproof glass.”

“Expensive.” Joshua lifts Yoojoon up and presses a soft kiss onto his round little cheek, pink lips on dumpling pudge, his hand spanning the width of his six-month-old back.

“We get by.”

“If you don’t sit down—” Mingyu’s interruption couldn’t be threatening if he tried, but Yoojoon trills against Joshua’s cheek in return of his kiss and Minghao thinks perhaps getting a move on is a good idea, else he won’t live to see the other side of this wedding.

“Fine, Minggoo,” Jeonghan hums placidly, cuddling his son close to his chest. “Let’s watch our friends get married.”

As they press down the beach, Minghao moves to follow them, but Joshua catches his hand, fingers twining with his.

Face split open in an unstifleable smile, Joshua murmurs, “Hello.”

“Hi,” Minghao replies, suddenly shy.

“Now?”

Joshua’s fingertips slide gently up Minghao’s wrist, warm and tender and familiar. Minghao’s heart feels like hummingbird wings in his chest, glowing multicolor in the sun like stained glass, soaring up into the sky cathedral. Joshua leans in, and Minghao closes his eyes, anticipating a kiss. A gentle press of lips lands on Minghao’s eyebrow instead, and Minghao opens his eyes, beaming at Joshua.

He’s ready.

**Author's Note:**

> can you blame me?
> 
> thank you for reading!
> 
> find me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/pixiepowerao3) and [curiouscat](http://www.curiouscat.me/pixiepower/)!


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